


The Voice of the Moon

by qwanderer



Series: Old Friends of Mozzie's [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, White Collar
Genre: (more White Collar typical than Criminal Minds typical), Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, F/M, Gen, post episode: Black Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek wasn't the first to call Penelope "Baby Girl."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay there are some events late in both shows, especially with regard to Neal and Rossi and their backgrounds, that I'm going to sort of talk around, but try not to actually spoil them. There are other little references to canon events but I think the only late-game episode I'm actually outright spoiling is Criminal Minds' Black Queen.
> 
> This fic is named after and references the Fellini film _La voce della luna,_ even though I have never seen it. I read the wikipedia article and decided I wanted to run with it anyway.

_“The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind.”_  
   ― Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

Agent Hotchner faced his team with his usual businesslike demeanor as he briefed them on their next case. "We have a series of murders in New York City," he told them. "The victims were single, middle-aged white males, all wealthy, all killed in their homes by strangulation with a ligature. None of them were found for days afterwards. These are highly organized crimes. Thoroughly planned and immaculately carried out." 

Dr. Reid flipped through the reports in front of him. "There are valuables missing from the homes," he pointed out, "but the murder is clearly premeditated, not committed to eliminate witnesses. It's possible that this person has been perpetrating home invasion and robbery for a long time, but the murders are an escalation." 

Agent Morgan frowned. "Do we know whether these are victims of convenience or whether they're serving as surrogates for someone the unsub is angry with?" 

"That's unclear at this point," Hotch answered. "They all have a physical similar type, but there's also a clear pattern in the type of homes and the stolen possessions that could be the determining factor here. What is clear is that he spends time around the victims, probably both before and after they've been killed. Drugs found in the victims' systems suggests that he disabled them before he killed them. It's possible he's not physically strong enough to overcome them otherwise. He may have a chronic illness or disability, or simply be smaller than average. There's also a small possibility that this unsub is female. He lingers at the scenes, making himself at home, even eating and drinking, leaving more than enough evidence to theoretically identify him. But he is not in any system." 

"At every crime scene the security system has been disabled and the footage from any cameras has been wiped," Garcia told them, sounding incredibly annoyed about it. "And these are high-grade systems, nothing simple or straightforward. Whoever's doing this? They know their stuff." 

"NYPD is expecting us this afternoon," Agent Hotchner told them. "Garcia, we could use a tech expert on the ground on this one." 

"I'm packed, I'm ready. Let's do this," she said determinedly. 

Hotch nodded. "Good. Wheels up in thirty." 

* * *

A single empty plate lay on the table, the remains of a meal streaked across it. A barely-touched bottle of wine stood beside it. 

"NYPD says the prints here all belong to the unsub. He sat here and ate while his victim lay drugged or dead." Rossi frowned down at it all. "He had himself a party here." 

"Not the kind I ever want to be invited to," JJ muttered darkly. Then she looked over to where Dr. Reid stood staring at a wall. "You OK, Spence?" she asked. 

"He spent time standing here," Reid said. He pointed at the sideboard in front of him. "The handprints here overlap in clusters. He came back over and over, and stood here." 

"Staring at a blank wall?" JJ asked. 

He pointed to a hook a little way up the wall. "This is where one of the stolen items was. A painting, probably. He spent time looking at it." 

"So he didn't take it just for its resale value," Rossi mused. "Maybe it's a trophy." 

Reid continued to look at the wall. "Or maybe he just liked it," he said. 

* * *

"Okay, so I figure you like puzzles," Garcia told Derek, spreading out the fried alarm systems out on the table in front of him. "Help me figure out what happened to these poor babies." 

"I'd like to help, hotness," he said, "but these are not bombs." 

"No, they're not," Penelope agreed, "but hey, new eyes, right? I helped you figure out a bomb when I didn't know anything about them. And these are stumping me. I think I know what he did, but I don't know what tools he used or how he even figured out how to do this. He got down into the guts of these things and messed directly with the circuitry. That's not the kind of thing you just pick up." 

"So it's a circuit that triggers a result under certain circumstances," he mused. "One that's difficult to disable. Okay. That's kind of like a bomb. I'll see if I can see anything you're not seeing." 

"Meanwhile," Garcia said, opening her laptop, "I'm going to hunt for this guy by trying to figure out if he learned this stuff anywhere online." 

After a couple of hours they both sat back in their chairs with frustrated sighs. 

Of course, Hotch chose that moment to check up on them. "Find anything?" he asked. 

Garcia grimaced. "We maybe have a _slightly_ better idea of how he did this. But the equipment he would've needed is only really available to the government and on the black market, and if he was a civil servant we'd have his prints on file. Which, no, of course not, we'd have noticed that by now. And I worked the information angle too. If this guy learned what he knows on the net, he's not leaving a trail." 

"Can you narrow down his identity based on the initial profile?" 

"Give it to me," Garcia said, fingers poised to type. "What are we looking for?" 

"They're local to Manhattan, but the comfort zone seems to span the whole island, we can't narrow it down any further geographically. It's posible he has a record for burglary. He's been perfecting his technique for a long time, so he's probably at least in his thirties, most likely forties. He's intelligent, educated, and knowledgeable about art, but it's possible he's self-educated - he likes things controlled, he likes thing done his own way." 

"That's kinda disturbingly vague," she told him. "Especially for a city this big. Nope, I've got nothing. Or rather, I've got thousands and thousand of somethings and no way to tell which, if any, of them is more likely to be our guy." 

"What about similar crimes, anything that can be tied to our unsub?" 

"Nothing conclusive like prints," she told him. "What I do have is a looong list of burglaries in the area over the last few years that are similar to this guy's MO, minus the... uh... gruesome murder. Sending the list to your phone." 

Hotch nodded. "I'll follow up on these with the local office, see if they've noticed any patterns that might help us find this guy." 

"Good luck, my liege," Penelope said in farewell. 

She and Morgan were still at it an hour later, and Garcia wanted to bang her head against her keyboard. "I give up, I give up!" she whined. "This is not working." 

"The Penelope Garcia I know never gives up," Derek told her. "Come on, girl, we can figure this out." 

"I don't know what else I can do. I've tried looking at college records, financials, even spent an excessive amount of time lurking in the places online where you can learn about disabling alarm systems. I've gone through it all backwards and forwards and I can't. Find. Anything." 

"You'll find him," Derek told her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You always do." 

Garcia shook her head. "Not this time. He just _isn't here._ I'm a master of the system, okay, but there are ways to keep your name, fingerprints, all this information out of the system, and there are people out there that are masters at it. If he's not in the system, what am I doing here? I'm supposed to find out things but I can't find out things!" 

"Okay," Derek said, putting a hand on her shoulder and catching her eye. "If he's not on the grid, he's not on the grid, and Baby Girl, you are the queen of the grid, but you cannot be everything to everyone. You know that." 

"Oh," Garcia said, her eyes going unfocused. 

"What?" Morgan asked. 

"You're right," she said. "I am the queen of the grid, long may I reign," and she began to type as she continued to talk, "but sometimes you gotta go to the king." 

"Okay," Derek said, nodding, then he frowned at her. "Who is the king?" 

"Someone I knew for a little while, back when," she answered, "who knows pretty much everything about staying off the grid in the Big Apple." She inclined her head at the screen, where she was typing a cryptic message into an email. "I just hope I'm remembering our code right. He's very particular about codes." 

"How long do you think it's gonna take to get ahold of him?" Morgan asked. 

"It depends," she answered. "Normally? Not long, but if he's on the trail of some hot new conspiracy... Oh! There he is." She widened her eyes. "And he's in town! Wants to meet in person. Alone." 

"Are you up for that? Want backup?" 

"He won't show if you do," Penelope answered. "Don't worry. I know this guy. And actually like him. I know some of my judgement of character back in the day was questionable, but him? He's all right." She patted Derek on the arm. "I'll be fine." 

"You're not a field agent. You don't have to do stuff like this." 

"I know," she said, "but I want to. It could help. And I miss him, and I kinda need to know that my past self wasn't completely wrong about everything ever." 

"Call me if you need me," Derek told her firmly. 

"I will, brown sugar. I really will. I am a physical coward and I freely admit it and if I run into trouble, any trouble at all, I will call you." 

"All right," he said as she stood to put on her coat. "Stay safe." 

She gave him a gleeful smile. "I think this is gonna be fun." 

* * *

_There's a bottle of wine._

_A red. Well-aged. Subtle with just enough of a bite, just enough sharpness, from the smell. It smells of wood and cork and fruit and years gone by._

_It's his now, and it's perfect._

* * *

Agent Hotchner walked into the New York FBI headquarters and got into an elevator at the same time as two other men. He greeted them with a nod, and one nodded back, while the other gave a grin. 

"White collar?" he surmised from the floor button one of them had pressed. 

"Peter Burke," the taller man introduced himself. 

"Aaron Hotchner, BAU," he replied, shaking hands. 

"Aww, but I wanted to be Agent Burke today," said the third man, pulling a badge out of his coat and flipping it open. 

"Neal. Give that back," said Burke, grabbing at the badge and putting it away in his own pocket. "So I take it the BAU is in town about the serial robbery/murders? Your guy's getting around those alarm systems pretty neatly, huh?" 

"It's a problem," Hotchner said. "Our experts aren't completely clear on how he's doing it." 

Neal raised his hand. "Hey, I know a thing or two about circumventing alarms! Maybe I could take a look." 

"Neal Caffrey." Burke inclined his head at the third man. "He's a consultant." 

Caffrey offered a hand to Hotchner. Hotchner gave him an assessing once-over as they shook, mind going to the profile. "That's a nice suit, Mr. Caffrey," he said, frowning a little. "And not new. Closer to antique. Where were you on the night of February 17th?" 

Caffrey grinned, hitching up his pant leg. "Why ask me when you could ask the federal marshals?" he asked, indicating a tracking anklet. 

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "And interesting choice of jewelry." 

Neal shrugged. "It has its advantages," he said, smile still in place. 

The two of them got out of the elevator, and Hotch continued up, making a note to draw on that resource if the opportunity arose. 

* * *

Garcia put a lot of thought into her spy outfit. Black trenchcoat, enormous sunglasses, a pink scarf covering her hair and tied under her chin. Very spy movie. Mozzie would appreciate it. 

She sat on the bench he'd indicated in his message, opening her newspaper to the comic strips. When she heard weight shift onto the bench back-to-back with her own, she put down her newspaper and muttered, "What am I doing here? Why was I put here in the first place?" 

From behind her, she heard, "If we all quieted down a little, maybe we'd understand something." 

She smiled, picking the paper up again. "Says the guy who lives in the city that never sleeps. Good to see you again, Ivo." 

"Likewise, Aldina," Mozzie said. He turned and leaned over to look at her paper. "Snoopy. Good choice." 

"Better than the news," she said with a moue. 

Moz nodded in agreement. "The corrupt lies of the big news organizations are not something you want to contaminate yourself with." 

"Not generally, no." She lowered her glasses, winked at him. "That's why I'm coming to the source on this one." 

He smiled a little. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

"Well, we're trying to catch a killer," she said. "And we could use some help. Some inside mojo on the secret underbelly of NYC." 

"Off the record?" Mozzie asked. 

"I can't promise that," Garcia said, wincing. 

"Okay, here's the thing," he said. "Without that promise? There's only one suit I'll talk to." 

Penelope's eyes widened. "I was actually kind of expecting a 'no,'" she said. "But you have a Suit? One you trust?" She pouted slightly. "And it's not me? Come on, Moz, my team, they're good. I trust them. You can talk to them." 

"Well, here's the thing, Aldina," he told her. "As lovely as you are, it's been a long time. Things are different." 

"I know, Moz," she said. "Okay, who's your Suit? Maybe we can work with him." 

Mozzie looked right and left before he spoke. "Head of the New York White Collar division. Name of Burke." 

"Oh my God, White Collar? Really, Moz?" She lowered her sunglasses to peer at him. "I mean, I went over to the Feds because they wanted me to help them catch psychopaths. Serial killers. You have a Suit you trust and he's White Collar? _Head_ of White Collar? _White Collar,_ the guys who stop - _us?_ Who we used to be?" 

Mozzie took a breath to respond, then let it out again, starting over. "Do you really want to go there?" he asked carefully. "You, Miss Meow Meow? The one who suddenly acquired a badge?" 

Garcia sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry, sugar, I'm sorry. I know I'm on the same team as this Burke guy now. I know the Bureau does good work. It's just I don't... I don't _talk_ to anyone from the old days anymore. And when I do, I pretend I'm who I used to be. It brings it all back. So give me some slack, okay, Mozzie?" 

Mozzie sighed. "Yes, okay," he said, then reached for her hand to kiss it. "You're still my baby girl. My splendiferous Queen of the Black Hats has become the radiant Queen of the White Hats. And I am still not immune to your charms." 

She smiled cautiously but happily at him, taking her sunglasses off and putting them in her bag. "Thanks," she said. 

"Yeah, yeah," he answered. "What do you need?" 

"So this guy, he's living completely off the grid, as far as we can tell. Like, can't find him anywhere. No records. He's a genius with alarms. Expensive taste. He likes to live the good life in other people's houses, then leave with a few souvenirs." 

"That sounds like several hypothetical people I may or may not know," Mozzie told her. 

"And then he likes to choke the life out of them and leave them dead on their own floors. It's not going to be someone you actually _like._ I promise." 

Mozzie sighed. "Very well. I'll give it some thought. If I come up with anything, I'll pass it along. To Burke." 

* * *

_There's a painting._

_Not an old master, but beautiful and brutal nonetheless, the blotchy purples and reds of the streaks that cross the golden plane standing out deep and dark and alive, like bruises._

_It speaks to him, and he knows he's taking it._

* * *

They all met up again the next day at the NYPD conference room they'd taken over. 

"Here's what we've learned," Hotchner told them, handing around more reports. "He has a signature. We didn't realize it at first, but the rings found on the victims' fingers were not their own. They were brought and placed on the victims by the unsub. And these are expensive items. Large cuts of precious stones set in heavy gold rings. And yet there's no record of the rings being either bought or stolen. Stones this large would be easy to track unless they were specifically moved through the black market and set by a jeweler who doesn't keep records." He looked around at his team. "The ritual suggests that these are surrogates for a specific person. That the unsub grew up, if not wealthy, then near wealth, and was possibly abused. That gives us another angle to use in looking for this guy." 

Reid spoke up now. "I also recognized a specific pattern in the victims' belongings. Their financial records are unremarkable in general, most of their belongings are legally obtained, but several of the homes contained art that I recognized from the art loss registry. There are other items that are less traceable and also possibly stolen. We already know that the unsub is able to obtain unusual and illegal items on a regular basis. It's possible that this unsub is finding or choosing his victims based on these illicit transactions." 

"Because he's so organized," Rossi said, "there should be a way to predict who he'll go for next with a certain amount of confidence." 

"The problem with that," Garcia replied, "is that the kind of information we'd need to do that? _Not_ easy to get our hands on. I'm working on it." 

It was only a few minute later that Garcia got a call on her main work phone. 

"This is the office of divine awesomeness, how may I help you," she answered, briefly forgetting that everyone who was used to that kind of greeting from her was already in the room. 

There was a moment of dead air. Then a deep, warm but no-nonsense male voice said, "Oh yeah, you definitely know our mutual acquaintance." 

"Oh!" Garcia's mind spun into gear. "You must be Agent Burke with the white collar division." 

"Yes, that'd be me," the voice agreed. 

"So, white collar man," she said. "It's kinda funny how you called right when we just figured out we needed to track down some stolen paintings and whoever's selling them in order to catch a serial killer." 

"Yeah, well, if you give me the information on the art pieces I can look through our files, but in the meantme I have a friend of a friend who thinks he might know something more about your case. Says to tell you it's Ivo." He cleared his throat. "He's told me some things... some very vague things...." 

"Ooh," she exclaimed. "What kind of things, people never bring me information for keepsies, they just feed me tidbits to try to pry miracles out of my divine hands." 

"Well, Ivo says that he knows a fence who he thinks might be mixed up in all of this. And I think I might know who he's talking about. But in any case, he said he'd be willing to meet again, if you'd like." 

"Yes, absolutely," she answered. "I will be there, just give me a time and a place." 

He passed on that information, then added, "If you need any other help with this, please call. We'd be happy to help the BAU. A little excitement and life saving beats mortgage fraud any day." 

"Yeah, I just bet it does," she said. "I'll let you know." She hung up, a smile on her face. 

Agent Hotchner gave her a look. "What was that about? Who are you meeting? 

"Oh right, that," she said, clearing her throat before continuing. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, "I know I'm not supposed to talk to people from the old days but I have this friend, this really, really good friend, I thought he might be able to get us a lead or two and he has, he really has. And Agent Burke of New York white collar will vouch for him. There's a fence he knows that might be involved in the whole stolen art thing, maybe even the rings and he'll meet with me to talk about it but he doesn't trust you guys yet, he's not the trusting type, so if I could just go to meet him one more time by myself then maybe we could finally start getting somewhere with this. Sir." 

He stared at her for a moment with raised eyebrows, and then nodded. "Okay. Leave the GPS in your phone on and get back in contact by the end of the day. And remember. You're good at your job. You don't have to be good at everyone else's, too." 

"Yes, Sir," Garcia answered gratefully. "Thank you, Sir." 

"You've been a credit to the Bureau for a long time now, Penelope," he said more quietly. "And you handled yourself well with Shane. I think we can extend some trust to you in this area. Just next time, let me know before you make contact with someone like this for a case." 

"Okay, yes. I will do that, Sir. Hotch. Sir Hotch." 

He rewarded that with an amused smile, and left her to arrange her meeting. 

* * *

"So it's not just fencing stolen stuff, the knowledge about the alarm systems and whatever else he'd need to live under the radar," she told Mozzie, in a completely different spot in a completely different park. "Our guy might also be going underground to buy and get information about people. Specifically, to buy some big honking bling, like wowsers, the kind of rings that will weigh down your fingers significantly. And to find out who might have been buying up stolen art." 

"That's hitting a little too close to home," Mozzie told her, somewhat alarmed. "If I'd known they were involved in all of that, I probably would have been a little more discreet. I should have been, anyway. But you know I can't say no to you. I wanted to find something a little too much." 

"Am I putting you in danger?" she asked with concern. 

He shook his head. "I can always disappear," he said. "But something like this could destabilize the entire community, such as it is. And I have friends around here." 

The crowd that walked past them ebbed and flowed, and then without warning, a pink origami lily fluttered down onto the bench beside Mozzie. He picked it up, looking at it curiously, but Garcia could see the tiny signs of increased tension as he unfolded it. 

It was a sheet from a "while you were out" pad, and there was a message scrawled across it. 

_Too many questions about you, your old girlfriend and the suits. People disappearing. No more contact. If things get too hot, I'll run._

"This is not good," said Mozzie. 

"What does it mean?" Penelope asked. 

"It means people have noticed me asking around. People who know I'm friends-of-friends with a fed. I've been followed. People have seen us together. And if she managed it, who knows who else could have?" 

"How bad is that?" Garcia asked, dreading the answer. 

"We have to go," said Mozzie. "Not back to the Feds. Your guy? He might know we're looking into him. I might have pushed my sources too hard." 

"Oh no. Oh no." Garcia grabbed his arm, holding on for comfort. "I can't just leave! They'll worry! Derek will worry. I told him I'd call if I ran into trouble. I can't just disappear." 

Mozzie looked torn. Then he sighed. "Someone like that? He knows all my tricks anyway. We'll have to hide somewhere he won't expect. He'll expect a safe house, or the FBI." 

"So where will we go?" 

Moz looked around as if visually assessing several unsatisfactory options. Then he nodded to himself. 

"Come on," Mozzie said. "I'll introduce you to Mrs. Suit." 

* * *

_There are chocolates._

_Single source, the kind of rounded sweet bitterness that only comes with careful selection. With hints of fruit and pain and darkness, that bitterness rolls across his tongue._

_It is his turn, now._

* * *

Garcia looked on slightly doubtfully as Mozzie picked the lock on the back door of a neat-looking little townhouse in Brooklyn. "Are you sure this is okay?" she asked. 

"Under the circumstances," Mozzie answered as he let them both into the clean kitchen, "I think our gracious hostess will understand. Incidentally, she's not terrible with a set of picks herelf." 

"And does her FBI agent husband know about this?" 

"Unfortunately, yes," Mozzie told her. "But she is the Suit's greatest weakness, and she's willing to take full advantage of that when necessary." Just then a shaggy yellow dog wandered into the kitchen, greeting Mozzie and then sniffing curiously around Garcia. 

"Oh my god, oh my god," said Garcia, immediately crouching down, "what a precious baby." 

"Satchmo is a noble companion," Mozzie agreed. 

"I bet you are," Garcia told the dog. "Bet you're a little knight in shining armor, aren't you, Satchmo?" 

"Oh," said a voice from the direction of the living room. "Well, I see our usual friend of a convict brought another friend." 

Penelope stood up immediately, clearly flustered. "I am _so_ sorry to just show up like this unannounced," she said quickly, "and about the lockpicking. I mean I didn't do that part, but. Mozzie thought it would be okay. Was it okay? Because I'm sure we can...." She waved vaguely in the direction of the back door. 

"No, that's fine, I know Mozzie is Mozzie," said the woman with an amused smile. "Now who's this, and what's up?" she asked the man. 

"Another old friend who rushes in where angels fear to tread," Moz answered. "I'd have called but we can't afford to be tracked right now. Her business is very dangerous people, and as usual, I've been drawn in." 

"I didn't... I'm sorry," Penelope tried again. "I didn't know what else to do." 

"It's really fine, honey," the dark-haired woman told her. "Any friend of Mozzie's...." She paused briefly. "Well. You seem like a sweetheart. So welcome." She held out a hand. 

"Mrs. Suit," Mozzie introduced, "meet the White Queen." 

"Oh," said Garcia, smiling. That sounded strange, but nice. She shook the woman's hand. "But you can call me Penelope if you want." 

"I'm El," the woman said in return. 

Garcia's smile slipped a little. "Oh, I... I used to know an Elle." 

Her expression turned understanding. "Elizabeth works too," she offered. 

"Elizabeth," Garcia agreed, nodding. "Thank you." 

"Well," said Elizabeth, looking around the kitchen, "I hear staying under the radar is hungry work. Do either of you want dinner?" 

"No ordering in," Mozzie told her. "There's not an unusual number of people here today, okay? Speaking of which." Mozzie went around closing Elizabeth's curtains as if he belonged in the place, while she looked on with equanimity. "I don't have my bug scanners on me, unfortunately, so we'll have to rely on my last sweep. What was it, two days ago? Had any repairmen in since then?" 

"Nope," Elizabeth answered calmly. "And I can cook, if you're really worried." 

Penelope shook her head. "Oh, you don't have to do that," she said. "I'm vegetarian and I know that can be a pain." 

El shrugged cheerfully. "We can totally accommodate that, believe me, I'm an event planner and vegetarian is one of the easiest diets to plan for at the last minute. Try finding out at the last minute that someone is gluten intolerant or diabetic. You're no problem at all, honey." She looked in the fridge. "Do you do eggs and dairy? I could whip up a quiche." 

"Oh, I like quiche," Garcia said. 

Moz looked over from where he was adjusting the kitchen blinds. "You do make a magnificent quiche, Mrs. Suit." 

"Yeah, well, I know Peter doesn't really appreciate them, but tonight he'll just have to suffer." She began pulling out ingredients and putting them on the counter. "It's been far too long." 

* * *

Mozzie let Penelope use one of his untraceable burner phones to call Agent Morgan and have him come over with some of the evidence that Mozzie thought he might be able to shed more light on. Then they settled in to wait. 

They were sipping wine and chatting about old movies when the front door opened. El rushed to see who it was. There were two white men in suits, and she kissed the slightly larger man soundly. "Hey, Hon," she said. 

"Hey, hon," he said, smiling at her and then looking around in mild confusion. "I see we've got guests." 

"Do I smell quiche?" Neal asked from beside him. 

"Indeed you do," said El. "Peter, this is Penelope. She's a friend of Mozzie's." 

Garcia rushed to offer her hand. "Penelope Garcia, technical analyst for the BAU. We spoke on the phone earlier? It's good to meet you, sir. I'm sorry to stop by unannounced but we kind of need help." 

"Peter Burke, head of white collar division in New York." Peter shook her hand. "And this is..." He turned to Neal. 

But Neal was already grinning and going in for a hug. "Hey, it's Mozzie's baby girl. Long time no see." 

"No lifting my badge!" Garcia warned. 

"Oh, you have a badge now, huh? Never would've thought." He took out his own - valid - consultant's credentials. "No more stickin' it to the man for either of us, huh?" 

"No gun, though, right?" 

"No gun," Neal promised. 

"Being shot has only increased my dislike," Mozzie contributed. 

"I know," Garcia said, cringing. "It's not nice. I don't like it at all." 

"You've been shot in the course of your duties?" Mozzie asked her with widened eyes. 

Penelope grimaced. "No, actually, I was... on a date." 

"Ah," said Moz, nodding. "Well, you know what Neil Gaiman says about love. 'Horrible, isn't it?'" 

Garcia smacked him gently. " _You're_ horrible," she told him. 

"Right, of course you all know each other," said Peter, shaking his head. 

"Only through Moz," said Neal. "We only met a couple of times, but he still talks about your skills... actually, come to think of it, I don't think I'd ever heard your real name before." 

"Well, the Black Queen... wasn't really a Penelope," Garcia said, wincing slightly at the memory of her past self. 

"I like you as a Penelope," Neal said, eyes glinting. 

"Well," said Mozzie, "as fun as this is, we're here because we've ruffled the feathers of a murderous psychopath and we need help escaping his wrath." 

"What happened?" Peter immediately demanded. 

"Well, I wasn't getting anywhere with our unsub in the digital realm, so I asked Mozzie for help, because I know he knows the city and certain... elements of its social structure. So he poked around, and...." 

Moz continued. "Our fence has been well and truly spooked. Whoever we're looking for? They've got to be pretty close to her. She's on the verge of leaving town. I don't think we're going to get much more information out of her." 

"And she's really the only connection we have to this guy. He does a lot with black market transactions, and not a lot on the record." Garcia pouted. 

"We usually try not to get mixed up in violent crime," Neal commented. "What's different about this, Moz?" 

"This particular unknown subject is giving hedonistic opportunists a bad name," Moz answered loftily. 

"And this sweetie pie asked him," El added, gesturing to Garcia. 

"That, too," Mozzie admitted readily enough, but avoided Neal's eyes while he said it. 

* * *

Derek arrived at the door in short order, an evidence box in his arms. "Hello, I'm agent Derek Morgan. This is the right place, isn't it? Garcia sent the address in code for some reason." 

Peter just nodded like that was perfectly reasonable, and moved back from the door to make room. "Peter Burke. I assume you're here to consort with the gang of troublemakers currently occupying my dining room table." 

Morgan shrugged. "Yeah, more or less." 

"All right, go on." He gestured Derek over to the table impatiently. 

"Hey, darlin'," he greeted Garcia. "Said you had some more eyes to look over our evidence?" 

"Yeah, a couple of old friends who have connections in the city. Neal can take a look at the rings. And...." 

Moz held up a hand. "No names. Two feds knowing my preferred name is quite enough, thank you." 

"You know that's not gonna last long," Neal told him, smirking as he took the rings. 

"Yes, well." Moz reached out a hand. "For now, let's see these alarms." 

Derek glanced at Garcia just to check if he was serious, then handed over the evidence bags. 

Moz looked over the alarms with a focused, grave fascination. "This guy might be part of the circles our fence runs in, but if he was bringing in anyone else on his jobs, I'd know about it. Because this work boggles the mind with its brilliance." He sighed. "I'll need to update all my alarms. Again." 

"Do you know how he did this?" Garcia asked him. "We narrowed down some of the equipment he would have needed, at least, but...." 

"I'm impressed you could do that much," Moz answered. "Most of this damage is to cover his tracks." 

"You see that, baby girl?" Morgan said. "Up against the best, but in the end, you're better. We'll get this guy." 

Mozzie's eyes widened at the agent. "Is there nothing that is sacred to you suits?" he demanded. 

Derek frowned at him. "Oh, are you one of them who thinks we should be following the letter of the Bureau sexual harrassment policy, because you wouldn't be the first to try to change this. But you're at the bottom of the list of people I'd listen to about it." 

Moz waved his arms in negation. "No, no! Far be it from me to spoil your fun. Color outside the lines to your hearts' content." 

"Then what?" 

"I don't think he likes someone else calling me baby girl." Garcia smiled a little teasingly. 

"What, so this is the guy who called you Baby Girl first? He's the king?" 

"Yup!" said Penelope. "Derek Morgan, meet Mozzie. Friend, fling, and fellow former fed-hater. And Derek's solid, Moz. You can trust him. He knows how cops _can_ be." 

They sized each other up. 

"I reserve the right to hang onto the remnants of my fed-hating ways," said Mozzie in Garcia's direction, "if your colleagues don't prove worthy of your friendship." 

"Fair enough," agreed Derek. 

Neal watched the BAU agents out of the corner of his eye between examining the rings. "They're not dating," he said to Moz. "In case you were wondering." 

Mozzie waved a dismissive hand. "Of course not." But he looked somewhat mollified. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Derek demanded. 

Moz rolled his eyes. "You might be smart for a suit," he said, "but you're nowhere near the White Queen's league." 

Derek blinked at him for a moment, then chuckled. "You know, I wouldn't have put it that way, but you're absolutely right. She's way too good for me. Aren't you, baby girl?" 

"Oh, you'd better believe I am the best, big daddy. All bow before my supreme gloriousness." 

"As is just and right," Mozzie agreed. "Few of us are so lucky." 

"You two dated?" Derek asked. 

"I was a rebound, and I accepted that," Mozzie said with a gracious nod. 

"It was when Shane and I were fighting," Garcia said, "one of the last times. But honey buns, you were _so_ much more than a rebound. You helped me figure out who I was and what I wanted. Then when the suits came calling, I knew what I had to do." 

Mozzie sighed deeply. "Apparently I'm destined to unwittingly push my best friends into federal collaboration." 

"That's because you're a _good guy_ ," Penelope told him earnestly. "And some of us, down there, wouldn't have known how to recognize the good guys, if not for you." She kissed him on the cheek. 

Moz's eyes went to Neal, widening as if to say "Can you believe that claptrap?" but Neal just smiled, as if he agreed. 

Mozzie sighed again. "I'm glad you're happy, Aldina," he told her. 

Penelope frowned slightly. "You don't miss... us, do you, sugar?" she asked. 

"The moon wasn't meant to be tethered," he told her. "It couldn't have lasted. But you'll always be my bewitching baby girl. And I'll never forget your lightning fast keystrokes." He smirked fondly at her. 

"Mmm, and you always did know exactly how to pick my lock." She grinned at him. "We _were_ good, weren't we?" 

"We were," Moz agreed. "But we weren't meant to be forever." 

Derek shook his head. "This is so weird to watch." 

Neal smirked. "Looks different from the outside, doesn't it?" 

"It really does." Derek chuckled. "I've got a little more sympathy for people who don't get the joke." 


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm assuming there's going to be a lot of business talk over dinner," Elizabeth told the gathering. "Which I'm very used to. My dining room is basically the other federal building, around here. But I know this case is a little different than I'm used to, so all I'm gonna ask is that we keep the gory details down to a minimum while the food is on the table, all right?" 

"Yes, Ma'am," Agent Morgan said, and the others nodded in agreement. 

Besides quiche, there were rolls, and a salad full of nuts and avocados with a lemon dressing, and bacon on the side for those who ate it. It did seem to make Peter cheer up about the quiche a little when he saw it. Neal picked out a white wine, and food and drink was passed around the table as they talked. 

"So you know one of the fences he's been using to find these victims and their homes?" Derek asked Mozzie and Neal. 

"No names, but yes," Mozzie agreed. "It seems like it's close to her." 

"A female fence, that makes sense," Morgan mused. "The profile suggests our unsub may more easily trust women than men. And there can't be that many, even in this city. If you gave this fence a list of all the art found at the crime scenes, do you think she might tell you if there are any she might have been involved with?" 

"I'm not sure," Mozzie said. "She seemed pretty spooked." 

"Let me talk to her, Moz," said Neal. "You know she can't resist me." 

"Yeah, yeah, rub in your natural charm and appeal," Mozzie said, waving a dismissive hand at his friend. "But only if it's absolutely necessary, all right? She knows what she's doing. She wouldn't have spread this farther than her closest associates. He's working with one of them, or he's one of them, and if she's seen talking to an associate of the feds... things could get very ugly." 

"What other leads do we have?" Peter asked the table in general. 

"We have the rings," said Neal, "but stirring up the people who might have sold them to him is not a good idea for our fence right now, or for them. Assuming it wasn't just her. She allegedly deals in that kind of thing often enough, and she has loyal customers." 

"If the rings have meaning for our unsub," said Derek, "it's possible they factored into his abuse. We could look for records of suspected abuse victims with cuts that might have been caused by a ring like that." 

"It's a big city," Garcia said, "and if he's fallen off the grid as thoroughly as we suspect he has, it might not make a difference to finding him now even if we could find him then. But I'll give it a look." 

"It's weird being the only profiler here," Morgan mused. "I'm used to having the rest of the BAU to back up my calls. But if he really is watching the federal building and NYPD...." 

"You can meet here," Elizabeth volunteered. 

"But have them come in the back," Mozzie said. "One at a time. And they can't park nearby." 

"Is that really necessary?" Derek asked. 

Garcia made a face. "He's our expert on how this guy gets around and how he gets his information," she said. "I'd listen, but I know him. You guys don't." 

"Yeah, all right," said Derek. "I'll let the others know. Not sure what they'll be willing to do." 

* * *

Ultimately, the BAU decided to humor Mozzie, for the sake of not alienating one of their best sources on this case. They were used to dealing with sources or witnesses who were not... what might be thought of as sane by most people. So the profilers arrived one by one, through the Burkes' back door, over the course of the next hour. 

Soon Reid was lecturing the larger group. "We know now how this guy is finding his victims, through stolen merchandise being traded on the black market. We should be able to do something with that information." 

Neal shook his head. "We can't put any more pressure on our fence to poke around for us. I still owe her and I want to make sure she gets out of this in one piece, if at all possible." 

Agent Hotchner sighed. "He's still planning meticulously. There's no hint of further escalation. And still no way of tracking him down, not without putting people in more danger than necessary. Caffrey's right about that. We're not going to find this guy unless we can find another angle. He will make a mistake eventually, but he's capable of killing a lot more people before that happens." 

Agent Burke raised his eyebrows. "Sounds to me like we need to set a trap." 

"No, absolutely not," said JJ. "That's way too dangerous. With a guy this organized, everything would have to be perfect. You can't fake the kind of situation he looks for." 

"Stings are kind of our specialty," Neal objected. "This is what we do." 

Garcia scowled at him. "Not with psychopathic serial killers, you don't," she snapped. "This is what _I_ do, Neal, and these guys are the scary, hands-off kinds of cases." 

Mozzie looked at Neal, eyes pleading. "She's right. We should be staying far, far away from this." 

Neal mirrored his expression. "But Moz, it's...." 

"I know, I know," Mozzie said with a sigh. "You can't resist a damsel in distress looming up from your past." He glanced at Garcia. "And as embarrassing as this is, I have to admit to a certain sympathy with that position right now." 

"Oh, honey bear, you say the sweetest things," said Garcia, "but no. This is our job. Not yours." 

"If we are going to consider this," said Agent Hotchner, "it has to be one of us, and it has to be strictly on a volunteer basis. I can't ask any of you to do this. It should be someone who's familiar with the case and the profile. I fit the unsub's preferred physical type." 

Neal shook his head. "No, it should be me," he said. "This is a part I know I can act. Not so sure about you." 

"I can deceive," said Hotch. "When there's a reason. Caffrey, we can't send you into something like this. You aren't an agent and this isn't a white collar case. You'd be putting yourself in the crosshairs of a sadistic sociopath." 

"Wouldn't be the first time," Neal said, shrugging. "Yeah, you can lie. Anyone can lie. This is something else. This is a long con. We need someone who can live in that skin for days, maybe weeks, get comfortable in it. And you have a life in DC. A kid." When Hotch raised his eyebrows, Neal continued, "Yeah, I looked you up." 

Agent Hotchner looked hard at Neal for a moment. "You're not expendable," he said at last. 

"I'm still the best choice," Neal countered stubbornly. 

Rossi cleared his throat. "Gentlemen," he said, "I have an alternative suggestion." 

Neal turned his head, looking him over. "You want to volunteer?" he asked. 

"As a matter of fact, I do." 

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Dave?" Hotchner asked. "You could be recognized." 

Rossi shook his head. "I publish under a pen name, and even if the unsub finds out about the books, I don't think the subject matter will scare him off," he told them. "He's too set in his ways. He doesn't care how these people got rich. Once he finds a target, he follows through. And if you mean the mafia? It's been a very long time since anyone in the New York City underworld has seen my face. And as I understand it, I won't be doing much poking around. Just waiting for one of them to come to me." 

Neal raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Okay," he said. "You've got my attention." 

* * *

_There's a ring._

_A square-cut rock, an emerald that he chose himself that's perfectly hard and smooth under his fingers. Those edges are straight and inviolable, but he leaves them in their place._

_They won't hurt him anymore._

* * *

Once they started setting up the bait apartment, it was Rossi's turn to be impressed, as he settled into what would be his home for the duration. He'd known Caffrey was a forger, suspected that there might be a few paintings here of uncertain provenance. 

Oh, there were paintings. Framed sketches by Renaissance artists. Expensive and rare bottles of alcohol - from Shackleton whiskey to vintage red wine. Hundred-year-old Tiffany candlesticks thick with patina. Even an ancient vase or two. 

None of it was real. 

He opened a beautiful wooden humidor on the sidebar. 

"Okay, whiskey, I'll give," he said in Neal's direction, "but forged cigars? That's just sad. It's just a cheaper cigar in a replicated wrapper, created to be sold to people who don't know the difference between good and bad tobacco." 

"Not these," Neal said, tapping them. "I don't normally do tobacco, but I know a guy that does, and he taught me a thing or two. They're decent tobacco to start with, and yeah, it doesn't make for the cheapest process, but depending on the mark and what they'll pay, it can be worth it." 

Rossi picked one out and smelled it, closing the box again. He looked at Neal, then back at the cigar, then at Neal again. 

"This is real," he said. 

A smile spread across Caffrey's face. "And you're the right mark," he said. 

"How did you do this?" Rossi frowned. 

"Well, let's just say the water used to season the humidor before this one was a little more... flavorful than usual." 

Rossi raised his eyebrows. "Risky," he commented. "You mind if I...." 

"Hey, gotta make the place smell lived-in," Neal said, still grinning. "It's still a little... fresh paint." 

Rossi smirked. "Give it a couple days, it'll all be garlic and good tobacco." 

"Anything else you need to make this work?" Neal asked, watching Rossi light one of the cigars. 

"I'll need to be able to hold up to intense scrutiny," he told Neal. "That means I need more than just an office to go to. I'll need a believable social life. And that's something I don't think even you can forge." 

"Is that a challenge?" Neal asked with a grin. "Because I think I might know just the lady that would fit perfectly on your arm." 

"After all of this," Rossi said, gesturing at the apartment, "I can't say I'm not curious to see what you'll come up with." 

"Oh, you'll love June," Neal told him, eyes sparkling. "Believe me, it's hard not to." 

"So we're ready," Rossi said. 

"Now I just have to go talk to a very nervous fence, and get her to spread false information that will cause a very dangerous man a lot of trouble. Wish me luck." Neal put on his hat with a flourish. 

Dave smirked. "May you get what you wish for." 

Neal gave him a joking glare as he left. "Now that's just mean," he said. 

* * *

_There's a body._

_Breath gurgles in the throat. Just enough to draw out the pleasure of anticipation. Just enough air to remind him that any time he wants, he can pull tighter, stop the air, stop the noise. Stop the life._

* * *

Dave went through the motions of his new life with practiced ease. He went to an office every day that had been set up especially for his cover, and used the time to work on his books. He came home to his apartment. He preferred his mansion in the suburbs of DC but he had to admit that the view here was nice. 

The first Saturday of his stay, it was time to put the final piece of the puzzle in place. 

It was hard not to suspect that whoever Neal Caffrey wanted to use as an ornament to this fake life was all sparkle and no substance, just another bauble, a trophy to complete a rich man's collection. 

When he met June Ellington at the jazz club, he knew immediately that he couldn't have been more wrong. 

June was... very smart, very dignified, and very much David's type. 

"Ms. Ellington, I presume?" he asked, holding out a hand as she approached. "I gotta say, our mutual friend really has my type pegged." 

"That's good to hear," said June, allowing him to kiss her hand. "I feel a little like I'm robbing the cradle." 

"I was a little afraid that was going to be my line tonight," Rossi said with a grin. "Glad to see I was wrong. You're perfect." 

"You flatter me," said June. 

"Not at all," Rossi told her, voice low and serious. "I wouldn't lie about this, not with everything that's on the line right now, June. So much depends on us looking natural together, on me looking like I'm having a good time. I don't think that's going to be a problem." He held out a hand. "Now dance with me." 

June followed his lead gracefully. "It would be my pleasure." 

Dancing close, Dave whispered in her ear. "I don't know how much Neal told you, but you need to know this is dangerous," he told her. "I need to make sure you know that. Give you the opportunity to back out." 

June's arms tightened around him. "What's life without a little danger?" she asked. 

"What if I told you I was mafia back in the day?" 

"I'd say you might have known my Byron," she told him, "but my husband never ran with the Italians much. He was always more the... independent venture type." 

"Ah," he said. "Widowed?" 

"Yes, several years ago," she agreed. "You?" 

"Divorced. Several times." 

She chuckled lightly. "Now that's real danger," she joked. 

"June," he insisted. "You know what we're doing here, right? We're intentionally attracting the attention of a killer." 

"Neal explained it all to me," she said. "You need my help to make this look real. It'll save lives. Neal, and the others? I owe them this much. They helped save my granddaughter's life." She smiled. "And they certainly make my life more interesting." 

"Neal's a character," Dave said with a smile. "Phenomenal to work with. I can see the appeal." 

"Yes," said June, smiling right back. "I think we're going to get along just fine." 

* * *

Of course, Neal, Peter and a handful of the BAU were generally hanging around in the surveillance van, eating sandwiches and watching monitors, while Rossi was out there having the time of his life. 

The basic plan was simple - if anyone tried to get into the apartment, he'd be arrested before he could get to the main living area, and then a simple fingerprint comparison would prove or disprove that he was the killer. 

This was complicated by the fact that they still weren't entirely sure how he managed to get to the alarm systems and stop all the footage from reaching the security systems before he'd even come into view of them. 

Today Mozzie had ventured in to keep Penelope and Neal company on their vigil. She glanced over from her computer screen and said, "Oh, sugar, you look really uncomfortable in here. You don't have to be here, you know. I have personal experience of the fact that the prospect of federal surveillance gives you hives." 

Neal stifled a laugh. 

"A wise man once said, keep your friends close but your enemies closer. I'm not even sure which all you suits qualify as anymore, but the result is the same." He sighed, tension all through his shoulders. "Besides, I have a bad feeling about this. I have a sixth sense for when a job is about to turn ugly." 

"This is not one of your jobs," Peter told him, but he looked worried. He focused on the screens, frowning. 

"Yes, because I would never plan something this _potentially horrifying._ Do you even have a backup plan in case the security system is successfully compromised?" 

"We have eyes on anyone coming into the building," Hotchner reassured. 

Neal shrugged. "Well, there are simple enough ways to get around that." 

They waited and watched for maybe twenty more minutes in which the most interesting thing that happened was two tenants kissing in the elevator, followed by a delivery man in a uniform carrying pizza who stopped at the security desk to ask directions to an apartment on a different floor from Rossi's. 

They watched a little longer, and then Peter frowned at his screen. "Wait a minute, where'd that delivery guy go?" 

"He's not on the hallway cams," said Garcia, and she began to tap furiously at her keyboard. The footage of the delivery guy at the desk came back across the screen. "Oh shit, oh shit. Guys, did you see that? Neal, do you...? Where's Neal?" 

Mozzie looked around, then stared at her. "Uh, he's gone?" 

"Oh _shit._ " 

* * *

Neal slipped a hand into his pocket to grab the apartment keys as he jogged up the steps. He'd needed them to help set the place up, and like so many other little useful things, it had never occurred to Neal to give them up. 

Now he used them to let himself into the apartment where, he knew, a good agent lay drugged and vulnerable in the presence of a killer. 

He dialed Peter on his phone, then slipped it back into his pocket. The van would have ears again. 

"Hey dad," he called, "you home?" 

* * *

"Neal, you idiot," Peter spat, putting his phone on speaker so everyone in the van could hear the ongoing idiocy. 

"Agreed," said Mozzie. 

Hotch spoke into his radio, telling JJ and Morgan to cover the exits and wait for instructions, and then they all settled in to listen with anxious attention. 

* * *

Neal turned the corner into the living area to find that Rossi was down, and the man in the delivery uniform was pointing a gun at the new arrival. 

Neal didn't have to work hard to respond to that sight with an unpleasant jolt of fear. 

"Stop right there," the guy said. 

"Hey, whoa, who are you?" Neal asked, putting his hands up. 

"No one." 

Neal moved a little, antsy, like a guy who couldn't freeze if he wanted to. "Yeah. well it sure _feels_ like _someone_ is pointing a gun at me," he said. 

"You're not supposed to be here," the man said, not commenting on his movements. 

"It's my dad's place." Neal took the opportunity to move closer to Rossi. Eyes still moving, good. "What did you do to him? Why isn't he moving?" 

"You're his son?" the man asked, an interested light in his eyes. 

"Yeah, I am." It felt like as much of a truth as anything Neal knew about his father. 

The man shook his head. "There's no evidence of a son. No photographs. No phone calls. But you have a key, you just show up? No, the FBI has been poking their nose in my business. If you're with them I should kill you." 

Neal watched his face intently, watched his responses. "If I were FBI, would I just waltz in here unarmed?" 

"Prove it. Empty your pockets." 

Without disconnecting the muted and invisible call (Mozzie had written the app for him with a little help from Penelope), Neal took out his phone and opened one of his albums. It was an over-the-shoulder selfie with Neal pointing at Rossi in the apartment kitchen in the background, cooking dinner for them both. 

"But he still doesn't have any pictures of you." The guy looked like he couldn't decide whether to be suspicious or vindicated. 

"We reconnected recently, okay? And he's a busy guy. Hey, what's your name?" 

"I told you, I'm no one." 

Neal sighed internally. He had to make everything harder. "All right, Odysseus. Why are you here? What do you want?" 

"To kill your father," the guy said, like it was obvious. 

"Why, what's he ever done to you?" Neal was genuinely curious. What had gotten into this guy's head? Why did murder seem like the best option? Neal didn't know much about David Rossi, and this murderer had to know even less, but Neal knew he liked Rossi. 

"Like you don't know," said the man, with a tiny head-shake and a frightening, knowing little smile. 

"I don't." Neal kept his hands out and visible as he gave a wide, expressive shrug. "Seriously, man. Why?" 

The man narrowed his eyes at Neal. "If anyone would understand this, it's you! Men like him, they need to be killed. You should know that. Or there'd be evidence of you. He shut you out. Like they always do." The murderer got closer and closer to where Rossi lay helpless on the couch. 

"No!" Neal insisted. "It isn't his fault he hasn't been around, okay?" 

"But he hasn't been," said the man, "and he never will be." 

Neal shook his head. "Things change, man." He watched the guy reach for Rossi. "Hey, easy." 

The gun stayed pointed steadily in Neal's direction, but the murderer's eyes locked on Rossi. "You don't care," he told the prone form. "Or you would have done something. Isn't that right? Acted like you were proud? Kept the kid around and not shoved him away? Maybe shared some of these riches?" He nudged Rossi firmly with a clumsy elbow. "You don't deserve any of this." 

The regret in Rossi's eyes... Neal didn't think he could have faked something like that so well. But then, Rossi was as much a student of human behavior as Neal was, and had had years longer to hone his skills. So there was no telling whether it was real. The point being, it _looked_ real. Neal couldn't tell. 

"Hey," Neal said, daring to step closer slowly. He put as much feeling into his voice as he could dare to. "That's not how it was. We hadn't talked in a long time but he was my hero when I was a kid and I don't want him dead. Okay?" 

The hard eyes turned back to Neal, the gun coming to bear on his new position. "No, you really do," the murderer insisted. "I know. All of this and he doesn't share it. Shuts you out, beats you down." 

Neal couldn't help but feel some sympathy, but at the same time this man was so obtuse. It was frustrating, and it was frightening. "I really don't," Neal insisted. "He's a good guy. No matter what he's done in the past." 

'Odysseus' shook his head. "He can't really change. People never do. He needs to die." 

The man's eyes held no doubt. Neal finally came to the conclusion that he wasn't going to be able to talk this guy around. 

Well, he'd need another plan, then. 

The arm not holding the gun wasn't doing much moving. It looked stiff, injured. Neal remembered what the BAU agents had said about the drugs, why he used them. 

If Neal could get closer, get the guy comfortable with Neal in his space... he thought he'd have a chance. 

"You know," he said thoughtfully to the gunman, "you might be right. Would you mind if I lent a hand?" 

"I'm not done playing with him yet. I was going to explore his kitchen, but if you know your way around..." 

Neal took a breath. This seemed like it might be the opportunity he was looking for. "Yeah, the guy does have some high class grub...." 

* * *

In the surveillance van, Mozzie and Penelope both startled, looking at each other with raised eyebrows. 

Peter looked at them. "What?" 

"I know that code," Garcia said. "Time to dress in drag and do the hula?" 

Mozzie nodded in agreement, standing. "I'll drop the pants if you do the dance." 

Peter looked alarmed. Fortunately, Mozzie left the van with all of his clothing present and accounted for. Not so fortunately, he made a beeline straight for the apartment building. Went inside. Went to the security desk. 

He leaned down and plucked something from among the electronics. 

Garcia tapped busily at her laptop, and two seconds later, the camera footage was live again, showing JJ in the hallway outside, showing Rossi limp on his leather sofa, showing Neal and their mystery man chatting in the kitchen like they hadn't a care in the world. 

Another second, and the fire alarm went off. The unsub's head shot up, looking around, and Neal knocked the gun out of his good hand, twisting it behind him. 

"Okay, you guys can join the party now," he called, just a little breathless. 

JJ and Morgan came in, and Morgan took the fallen gun and then went to check on Rossi while JJ and Neal cuffed the guy. 

"Funny how being cuffed gets old fast," Neal commented, "but putting the cuffs on someone else never does." 

JJ inclined her head in acknowledgement before reading the guy his rights and dragging him away. 

* * *

Most of them had cursory debriefs at the scene before heading home. Peter had wanted to have a good shout at Neal, but when he'd seen that Caffrey was pale and tired-looking, he'd squeezed his shoulder and told him to get some rest and that they'd talk in the morning. It wasn't like he'd wanted to have a gun pointed at him by a serial killer for a significant portion of the evening. 

Rossi stayed in the hospital overnight as the drugs left his system, and although he was still tired in the morning, he'd be ready to leave on the jet with them after a final checkup. 

They met at the Burke's again in the morning, again at Mozzie's request, and their need for a more in-depth report on his part in the arrest overrode any doubts about giving in to his paranoia about government buildings. 

They let the BAU agents ask their questions, and by the end, Peter had worked up a good head of steam again. 

"I don't even know where to start." Peter looked at the criminals in his living room with exasperation. "...The Lion King, really?" 

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "It's a classic allegory for the evils of ill-gotten power and the advantages of an alternative, off-the-grid lifestyle. There aren't many other movies that so clearly revel in sticking it to the man." 

"Plus, it's got all those big adorable kittens in it," Garcia added. 

"Always a plus," Neal agreed. 

"All right," Peter allowed. "So you noticed that this guy was acting suspicious, and... what? You decided that what the situation needed was an unarmed civilian?" 

"I'm not exactly a civilian," Neal objected. 

"For these purposes, you are. With killers, you are. This isn't your game, Neal." 

"Maybe not." Neal cocked his head. "But I knew what I was getting into. I was there for the profile and the plans." 

Peter shook his head. "You didn't even know that was the guy. You couldn't have known." 

"I saw him with the guy at the security desk. He was up to something. It's hard to con a con." 

"And if that something had been unrelated?" 

Neal huffed in frustration. "If I'd seen the delivery man coming back down, I would've left for the van. If there wasn't anyone else in the apartment when I got there, no harm, no foul." 

Peter sighed. "I should've seen this coming. I should've known you'd pull something flashy and self-destructive." 

"I have to admit," said Hotchner, "I saw it coming. And I couldn't bring myself to disagree. We would've had no idea what we were going into if not for you. You probably saved Rossi." 

"I just talked to him," Neal said. "This is what I do." 

"That was considerably more dangerous than your usual federal involvement," Mozzie said. "I hope." 

Neal shrugged. 

"You could have died!" Mozzie said. "Don't do that again!" 

Neal raised his eyebrows at his friend. "You were kind of the one who dragged me into this one, Moz." 

Mozzie looked stricken. 

"No, it's my fault," Garcia said. "Totally me pulling the strings." 

Neal backpedaled slightly at that. "It wasn't either of you. Not really. I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't ready to accept the risks," Neal argued. "And I'd probably do it again." 

Peter shook his head. "We could have found another way. We should have sent in armed agents the minute we knew the guy had slipped past us." 

"Peter, the only reason he didn't bolt at the first sign of company was because I presented myself as being in a position to understand what he was doing and why. If agents had come to the door, he probably would have just shot Rossi and then run when they stopped to try and save him." 

"You have good instincts," Agent Hotchner told him. "I think you're right. But you're still not expendable. So next time, give a heads up before stepping into the middle of one of my operations." 

Neal shrugged. "I'll see what I can do," he said. 

"And good call on the date," Aaron continued, giving Neal a small smile. "I think you're indirectly responsible for the impressive bouquet that was sent to Dave's hospital room. He's enjoying it. I think we'll need to find a seat for it on the jet." 

Neal just grinned. 

"Oh, that reminds me!" Elizabeth said as she put away her coat. "Look what I found on the steps when I got back from walking Satchmo!" 

She handed Mozzie another paper flower. Tucked in the folds were a couple of lines of writing. 

_Thanks for not pushing. I'm going out of town for a little bit, but I'll be back._

Mozzie showed it to Neal before folding it flat and tucking it away. 

"Thank you," Garcia said to them both. "I know this wasn't an easy thing to ask, but you guys helped us a lot. We saved lives." 

"You're okay," Mozzie told her. "Despite the badge. And really... I had to know. I had to find out what happened to you." 

"And what did you find out?" Penelope asked. 

"Old friends are old friends. No matter what else changes." 

Garcia smiled. "Take care of yourself, sugarpop." 

"You do the same, sweet baby girl." 

Hotch was just getting off the phone. "Rossi's been discharged. We've got a flight to catch." 

"Look me up if you're ever in DC," Garcia commanded. 

Mozzie smiled. "And if you're ever up for another Flarpy Blunderguff, you know where to find me." 

"That's sweet," Garcia replied, "but I'm seeing someone." 

El frowned. "What's a flarpy...." 

"Oh, trust me," said Neal, "you... don't wanna know." 

Derek grimaced a little. "I know and I don't wanna know." 

"There are things that paint and charcoal should never be used for," Neal said in agreement. 

El held up a hand. "All right, you're right, that's enough." 

Neal's laughter followed the BAU agents out into the sunny late-winter morning. 

Today was a good day. 

* * *

_“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.”  
_    ― Lao Tzu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe RoseApprentice a lot on this one so give her her usual 12% credit. She did a lot of the stuff that meant this ended up with an actual plot.
> 
> For the record, I made no effort to fit this into an actual place in the White Collar timeline. It's just sort of "assume series status quo." Whether it's before or after That Thing that happened in S4/S5, I think the result would be the same.


End file.
